The Winchester-Novak Files
by wasted.paper.and.broken.pens
Summary: The Winchesters are murderers, a family business that has carried on for over a hundred years. An officer has become obsessed with their practices and will do almost anything to attract their attention. Supernatural AU.
1. Chapter 1

The hot water was soothing against the man's back. His arms stung as soap was applied, but the most attention he gave to it was a small hiss. He paid the most attention to the spot on his chest where tiny beads of red kept appearing and would grow bigger if he didn't constantly wash them away.

They had chosen a true fighter that night. It was a woman, who must have been in her mid-twenties and had pretty blonde hair. She came across as confident when he and Sam had been observing her from across the bar. That was what had caught Dean's attention the most.

The two cornered her in the alley after she exited the bar. At first, she tried flirting her way passed them, but then she knew they meant business when she wasn't capable of escaping the grip the younger Winchester had on her arm.

It turned out to be bloody for both sides. Another man from the bar decided to use the alleyway as a shortcut as well and soon joined to try to help the woman escape. He found it was all in vain a little too late, though, when he watched as the taller man of the two brothers took out a hand pistol he had brought along with them for back up.

Dean shut off the water when he heard three knocks from the other side of the bathroom door. Small droplets of blood kept forming from the line on his chest where the opposing man had brought a pocketknife to, ruining his shirt and cutting into him.

"Yeah?" he asked out.

"You done in there, Dean?" It was his younger brother. "Ellen's made some food for us. She wants to talk before she goes to bed. It sounds important."

Dean tensed up a little. With Ellen, it could be anything. But he quickly regained his composure over the matter. "Just give me a sec here, man. Oh, and look for some pie too."

He could hear Sam snort from the other side. In fact, he could practically imagine the bitch face he was probably forming that moment. "Sure thing," was the only reply.

The older brother listened as the other Winchester's footsteps retreated down the hallway over the creaky floorboards before resting his head on the tile wall of the shower. He closed his eyes and sighed after a short moment because in all honesty, this 'family business' was beginning to wear him out. There was no escape from it, that much he knew. All his childhood, he was being trained to become the perfect killer, the greatest mass murderer. In fact, Dean didn't know much about the outside life beside what his parents had told him. The man had little to no chance of making it in the real world, of having a perfect, apple-pie life.

And then there was also his biggest fear of all.

Of disappointing his father.

Sure, the man was long gone, but he had always talked about how great Dean was going to be one day. He even talked about how he was going to be dead at one point in time and that it was going to be Dean and Sam's job to carry out the family business. To not let the family legacy die.

He sighed once more when repressed memories began to swim to the surface. They were the ones that had been tucked away for a reason. They were the ones that he never told anyone of, mostly because of the fact that he was ashamed of himself when he looked back on those times of disappointment.

He reached out his towel and ruffled his hair with it for a few seconds before wrapping it around his waist. Glancing down at his chest, he found it wasn't as much of a bloody mess as it was just twenty minutes ago. Clothes were thrown on unceremoniously as he was trying not to concentrate on anything for the moment.

Yes, it was going to be one of _those_ nights.

Downstairs, he found a plate of fries and a burger waiting for him at the bar. Ellen Harvelle caught sight of him as she was wiping down the table tops. She smiled at him and set down her rag as she walked over to pull him into a hug. Dean grunted uncomfortably as she accidentally pressed up too close to his chest.

She pulled away almost immediately. "Sorry about that Dean. Did you want to put anything on it to help it heal? Sammy told me all about this one."

Dean shook his head. "Thanks, Ellen. I'll be fine.

She gave a small smile and touched his arm. If Dean was going to be honest, he sometimes felt as if Ellen was a better mother than his own actually was. He knew that if he actually had the balls to step away from this, from all of this, that she would have his back. His biological mother always seemed indifferent to what he wanted when it came to their family legacy.

"You best sit down and eat your food, Winchester. Your health nut of a brother is back in the kitchen fixing him up some rabbit-food."

"Say what you want, Ellen. I'm still going to outlive the age you die at by forty years!" the two heard Sam shout from the kitchen.

"I'd rather die young and unhealthy than put that nasty stuff in me and live to one-hundred. I'm a warrior, I can't live on that crap," he defended.

"You say that now. Tell me what you think in another year when you're lying on your death bed and I'm as fit as a marathon runner."

"Whatever. Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean laughed and shook his head, turning his attention back to the woman in front of him just as his younger brother came through the doors leading from the kitchen with a bowl of overly colorful, leafy stuff. "So what was it you wanted to talk to us about, Ellen?"

She suddenly appeared nervous, as if she hoped she wouldn't have to be put on the spot after all. "Well, for starters, Jo may ask if she can help you guys out on a trip sometime in the future. Poor girl wants to be more like her father. I trust that you two will say no and bring it to my attention," she said and eyed them seriously yet almost as if she dared either one of them to object.

Sam was the one to speak first. "Of course we will Ellen. I wouldn't want her to experience any of the things we have to on a daily basis."

She forced a smile. "Thank you, Sam. I just wish I could expect that much from your brother." Dean gave her a look but didn't respond as his mouth was currently filled. He only rolled his eyes and continued to chew. Ellen cleared her throat. "Now, it is completely up to the two of you to decide, but Ash wanted me to suggest you letting him go on a couple of trips. He thought that he could help with the technical stuff if you ever wanted to go indoors. Like with the surveillance cameras. With him, I'm not so worried about anything…that crazy bastard."

Dean paused mid-chew to take a glance in Sam's direction. He looked almost torn.

"Well," the younger one began, but then paused longer than necessary. "I guess it would be nice to have some extra help every now and then, for when we start getting into heavier stuff. But there are certain risks…What do you think, Dean?"

Dean snorted, and then swallowed the rest of the fry in his mouth before folding his hands in front of the plate. "I think the dude's a crazy bastard. But he has the skills we lack." He brought his hands up to his face and let them block the light from his eyes while he thought. Finally, he brought them down and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we can bring him along tomorrow, if you still wanted to go by that bank we had passed earlier this morning?" he directed toward Sam.

"Sure Dean, but what about the risks we could be taking if he comes along? I mean, he could mess up, he could die…he could get caught. Should we really do this?"

Dean sighed for what felt like the tenth time that night. Why did Sammy always have to be the voice of reason? "We're just going to try it. I'm sure, if we're careful enough, then we'll be just fine. Ellen, you can tell Ash that everything's peachy. Now, can you just let me eat my burger?"

Ellen and Sam shared a look. Dean wasn't usually like this. He wasn't so cooperative. He would have told them 'no, absolutely not. We're not going to put another one of our own in danger. Not Ash.' But then again, the family business was weird like that. When it was family, one of your own going in with you, you know you can trust them whole-heartedly. The thing with Ellen wasn't that she didn't trust the boys. They both knew that she trusted them with her own life, and that the feeling was mutual. She just didn't want to lose her only daughter, and both Winchesters understood that as well.

"Sure thing, Dean," was Sam's reply.

"Ellen, you got any pie?"

* * *

The officer sat down at his desk in his own home, thankful his shift was over. It had been a long day and it seemed to become worse and worse as each hour went by.

He sighed and looked down to his hands as his personal cell rang for the twelfth time that day If Alastair called him once more, he was going to throw a chair out the window of his fifth story apartment.

But what he saw when he glanced down was enough for him to forget about being angry for a moment or two. It was those Winchester copy-cats again. The man, or supposedly men, that attacked every night with the alias of the Winchester criminals. There was no link detected between the victims, just as there hadn't been for the past hundred years.

They had murdered a father of two the night before and set his home ablaze. Fortunately, no one was inside as his family had been visiting relatives that week. Well, except for the family cat.

The two had amazed the officer for more than a few years now. He could tell they were different from the generations of Winchester killers before them because, every twenty years or so, the signature would change. These past ten years, the signature had been the name 'Winchester' written in black Sharpie somewhere near the body, as opposed to 'W. Chester' written on the closest wall to the body with the blood of the victim.

In all honesty, he never did understand how 'W. Chester' was any better than 'Winchester.'

The officer had been researching the Winchester copy-cat files for quite some time now, and not just for professional uses. It had become a secret obsession of his. Usually, or maybe _in earlier years_ would be a better choice of words, he would have been able to distract himself from the thoughts, the images, the magazine articles of the killers. But more recently, it had been impossible to think of anything else. It felt as if he were being burned from the inside, out sometimes.

He had often though about getting their attention, but how he could go about it had always puzzled him. He couldn't exactly call a press conference and just straight up come out and say, "Hello. I admire your art, your talent. I would very much like to meet you. Maybe we could even go get a cheeseburger sometime and discuss religious beliefs, if you would like that." No. He couldn't possibly do that.

But there was always the second idea that his mind gave birth to when he was in the middle of a crime/thriller movie. (Although they were never really his type.) He knew the tricks that other officers couldn't detect, being in the crime fighting business and dedicating several hours to research.

So on impulse, the officer grabbed one of his personal automatic weapons from his desk drawer and a large red marker. If this didn't catch his obsession's attention, he thought to himself, then what else would even come close enough?

Quickly, he tugged his tan trench coat on around himself and hid the weapon skillfully. He faced the mirror next to the door and took a moment to glance at himself. There was a certain look to him, he noticed. There was a hunger in his eyes that he had never seen before. "This is going to be so much fun," Castiel Novak said to himself with a wicked smile forming its way onto his lips before exiting his front door.


	2. Chapter 2

When Dean walked downstairs and into the bar area the next morning, he found everyone staring up at the television set hanging in the corner. Jo and Sam turned their heads in his direction for only a few short seconds to acknowledge his presence and then quickly turned their attention back to the program. Dean was surprised to see Bobby standing among the others, considering he hadn't seen or spoken with the man in over three weeks.

"It okay if I grab a beer, Ellen?" he asked, hopeful.

Ellen only shushed him without sparing so much as a glance in his direction. He took that as a 'yes' and helped himself to some of the quality beer she kept hidden away for only her family.

He stood there, quietly sipping his alcohol while observing the people he considered most dear to him. (Or maybe the only people he knew would be a better way to put it.) They were watching the morning news, something he quickly found out. Dean wasn't really paying attention until a blonde (who he would very much consider busty) appeared on the screen.

"The only question now, is when will these heartless and cruel killings come to an end? Back to you, Allan," were the only words Dean was able to catch.

Someone quickly switched the television off as soon as the blonde was through speaking her line. So fast, in fact, that he wasn't even able to see what this 'Allan' guy looked like. Truthfully, he wouldn't even be paying any attention to him in the first place. When he realized that there were still other people in the room as well as himself and looked back to them, he found five faces staring back at him. Their expressions were surprisingly terrifying.

"What's with you guys?" he asked with a scoff and the last sip of his beer.

"You'd better tell me it was you that went out in the middle of the night and did this, you idgit," was Bobby's quick response. "Don't you dare lie to me either, Dean."

"What?" Dean asked with a dumbfounded look on his face.

"There's been a shooting, Dean," said Ellen, hesitantly. "At the grocery store. It just kind of…well none of us did it. None of us have been out and Bobby's already called Rufus and Garth and they claim that they were far away from our town and asleep as well. I know those two wouldn't do it without tellin' us either. And Garth…well he'd get caught if he tried doing something this big anyway. Bless his heart."

He looked at them all individually and with an expression none of them were capable of reading. "Well I didn't do it," he finally said, as if it were obvious.

"You'd better be lying, boy. Ain't no one gonna do something like this other than us-or you two, at least- without meaning business."

Dean shrugged. "Well I don't know what to tell you, Bobby. I was dead to the world last night."

There was a kind of uncomfortable silence following Dean's statement as they all realized what this recent event meant for them. As far as they knew, the Winchesters were the most feared murderers for over a hundred years. They were the cleverest as well, most not even being caught until they had died in some way. And even by then, they would have had a secret kid or two that was hidden away with friends or other relatives that were in on the business as well so they could pick up right where their parents left off. The Winchesters had made a name for themselves all across the country, despite the fact that no one knew exactly who they were or what they looked like. Dean, and most likely everyone else in the room, hated the mere thought of another name replacing their own. If his father was alive, he would fight to keep the family name feared.

"So what do we do now?" Jo asked with a quiet voice as she rubbed her arms. It was obvious that she felt uneasy, but who wasn't? Dean just hoped that this didn't mean that she was becoming too attached to the work. He and Ellen exchanged a short glance before she worked up the nerve to reply.

"You won't be doing anything, Joanna Beth. Just keep your nose out of the business so you won't get yourself killed, alright? I suppose the boys will go back to the usual routine." She shrugged and looked to Sam. "You boys gonna' go check this out and see who we're dealing with here?"

Sam nodded and turned to his laptop, which Dean then noticed was set up on the counter like usual. He got to work almost instantly, typing away. Dean watched his baby brother from afar (yes, even though they were depicted as cold, soulless killers and he was probably way too old to call Sam that, he would always be thought of as 'Dean's baby brother') while the others spoke amongst themselves. Once again, the ages old thought of finding a way to get Sam out of this lifestyle came crashing like waves through his mind.

"Dean?" Sam asked with an arched eyebrow when he caught Dean staring. "You okay?"

Dean forced a smile, unsure if his brother even noticed its lacking of authenticity. "I'm fine, Sammy."

Sam tilted his head and opened his mouth as if he were to say something, most likely along the lines of, 'No you're not. Talk to me, man.' But he closed it and shook his head as he had done countless times before then.

"So," Ellen began before Dean could speak again. "Who wants breakfast?"

* * *

The flurry of police officers and detectives were visibly surprised when a black '67 Chevy Impala drove into the grocery store parking lot. Most of them asked the two for their identification and badges numerous times, just like every other time before that. They had to answer questions about the previous cases they had dealt with in the past, asked by suspicions officials, before they were granted entrance. Sam and Dean (or Special Agent Simmons and Special Agent Stanley) understood completely. It was people like themselves that the officers were trying to keep out anyway.

When they finally entered the building, the two were shocked, which should have been unbelievable as they had seen scenes such as the one before them countless times.

There were fifteen bodies altogether. Two of which were in the Customer Service Center about ten feet from the front doors. Five were in the in-store restaurant. Four were found in the produce section. The last four were in the cereal and dry snack aisle. The blood trail suggested some of the victims attempted to run or crawl their way to the exit, depending on what they were physically capable of at the moment. Those who looked as if they had made an attempt to escape looked as if they had taken another round to the head when they were found.

On the automatic doors at the front of the store, the letters 'C.N' were written, large and in red ink.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" came a voice that interrupted the brother's personal investigation.

Dean looked to him while Sam only glanced in the man's direction before returning back to his pocket-sized notepad. They both noted that the man looked…peculiar. He didn't look as if he should have been working in the crime field.

"It's Agent Novak, by the way. Detective, although I'm called in as an officer at times. Special privileges, you could say," he added when Dean gave him a questioning look.

"Special Agent Simmons," Dean replied with a nod. "Does it look like there are any links between the victims to you?"

Novak shook his head. "They range in all different races, genders, ages… It looks as if the suspect came in and opened fire at random. Maybe he wanted to attract attention to himself," he suggested.

"Who would he want to gain attention from? The public?" asked 'Special Agent Stanley' when he finally gave in to the conversation.

"If he were to only out to gain the public's attention, surely he wouldn't have that he would need to go to such great lengths. No, I think he was looking for someone bigger. He wanted someone much more important," Novak said as he studied the broken and bloodied body closest to him.

"Yeah?" Sam scoffed. "Who would he possible murder fifteen people for? If it's the government then he could just write an email," he said with a chuckle.

"Oh, I couldn't possible imagine," the detective replied. Then, as if about to tell a secret, he turned his head to look both ways and leaned in closer to the two. "What if he wants the Winchester copy-cat killers?"

Sam scoffed again while Dean was visible taken back. "Copy-cat killers?" he asked with a voice that raised a few octaves. "You think w-_they're_ copy-cats?"

Detective Novak shrugged, indifferent to the agent's raised voice. "Well it's most likely. Even though they seem quite enthusiastic with their work, the quality has gone downhill over the past decade. And that is beside the point. Perhaps he admires them and wishes for them to take notice?"

"And why, exactly, would he want that?" 'Stanley' asked.

"Like I said, he probably admires them. Wouldn't you go to great lengths if you realized it was possible to get your favorite celebrity or idol to take notice of you?"

"Hey Novak! We need your help over here," an officer from the front of the store waved and interrupted anything Sam was about to say.

"Well it was a privilege meeting the two of you, Special Agent Simmons and Stanley. And if you wish," he said, pulling in closer to the shorter agent of the two. "The back of the building hasn't been cleared yet as we've all been a bit busy up here as it is. You might find something none of us have gotten our hands on yet." And with that, he was gone.

The brothers followed his suggestion after a second of hesitation and an exchanged glance. Sam followed silently behind Dean to the fire exit, which had been disabled that morning. They braced themselves for whatever it was they would find outside.

But they didn't find anything, surprisingly. There was no blood in sight, no extra bodies lying around. What they did find, though, was their last name. 'Winchester' was written on a brick wall in red ink along with an arrow beside it that pointed down and to the right. It pointed to a single brick, which was colored red and looked loose, as if it had been removed and then put back into place.

Dean glanced at Sam, who wore a worried expression on his face, before shrugging. "Maybe that Novak guy was right, huh?" he said and turned back to the wall.

"But this doesn't make sense, Dean. Did he know what was back here? Do you think he knows about…?" Sam trailed off when Dean gave him a criticizing look. "I'm just saying that, maybe…" he stopped himself again, worriedly.

"What are you saying, Sammy? Spit it out, man," the older Winchester demanded.

"What if he knows about us, Dean?" he finally asked, gaining himself another odd look and a scoff from his brother.

"And how would he even know, Samantha?" he teased as he turned his attention back to the wall. Carefully, he brought his hands level with the discolored brick and skillfully pulled it out. "Ah-hah!" Dean exclaimed when he found a perfectly folded and neat piece of lined paper at the back of the otherwise space. He took it out and held it up for Sam's inspection. Sam raised an eyebrow at the find, and looked to his older brother with an expression he couldn't quite read.

"I think we should get out if here first, Dean," Sam said when he heard voices approaching. "Ellen and Bobby will want to see this, too."

Dean heard the other voices as well as they became closer to the two and his eyes snapped from the direction from which they came. He tucked the paper into an inside pocket of his suit and nodded. "Let's go.

* * *

Sam grimaced as the note was read aloud for the fourth time; this time by Bobby instead of Ellen or Dean.

"_Winchesters-_

_If you have found this letter, congratulations are in order. If the police have found this, then I will say now that I will not stop until I have captured my targeted audience's attention._

_If you are as clever as I have imagined you to be, then you will know where to go."_

"And then there's just some gibberish on the back side. I've read it over and over. Sam has read it over and over. It's like some pot-head middle-schooler wrote it during lunch or whatever," Dean said irritably with enthusiastic hand gestures.

Bobby turned the paper over to find that what Dean stated was true. He threw it down on the table he was seated at with a loud 'BAM' as his hand made contact with the surface. "What the hell kind of message is this?" he exclaimed before taking a generous swig of the bottle of Jack Daniels Ellen had set in front of him moments ago.

The others crowded around the table to get a closer look at the message. Ash tilted his head and squinted his eyes, forming a questioning look on his face.

'_The second Ballroom scene_

_On twenty-one 10__th__ thirteenth street_

_Has third choice floor_

_In second term hallway_

_Fifth choice room at_

_12 AM midnight'_

"I don't get it. Was he writing crappy poetry at the time he decided to go shoot up a grocery store?" Ellen asked, more to herself than the others.

Everyone was glancing at each other and whispering amongst themselves, with the exception of Ash, who was more or less only concentrating on the paper in front of him. It was almost as if he was temporarily unaware of those around him.

"I don't understand."

"What does this mean?"

"Why is he-or she-trying to get your guys' attention?"

"What the hell is this guy puttin' out?"

"I got it."

All heads snapped in Ash's direction, surprised with his sudden statement. He finally glanced up at the rest of them all and turned the piece of lined paper around again so it was facing up towards the others. "Read every other word, starting with the first."

Every one of them hesitated before Sam spoke. "The Ballroom on 10th street…third floor…second hallway…fifth room…12 midnight," he read out while the others were staring in silence. "Yeah, I know where The Ballroom is. So is this guy giving us a location?"

Ash shrugged. "It sure sounds like it. Maybe he wants you guys to…you know…there," he suggested with a timid voice.

"Why?" Sam looked to Dean with a questioning expression.

The room went silent for awhile, the only noise coming from the ball game, which had been turned on before the boys returned and hadn't yet been clicked off. Each person in the room was too wrapped up in their own thoughts regarding the message to speak at the moment.

"You boys aren't thinking of actually going, are you?" Ellen asked incredulously when she became visibly nervous.

"Well why not, Ellen?" Dean asked. "This guy wants us to go to acknowledge him. Who are we to decline?" He flashed a mischievous smile Sam's way, who then sighed and rolled his eyes in return.

"I don't ever get a say in these things."

"Shut up, Samantha."

* * *

Castiel Novak plopped down on his couch only seconds after he entered his apartment. His day had been tiring and he had found that working on a murder case he himself had caused was more stressful than he thought it to be. He had to constantly make sure that everyone was being lead in the wrong direction and that nobody suspected it was one of their own who committed the crime.

So far, he thought he was doing great.

He knew that not everyone in the field was as smart and all-knowing as they had made themselves out to be. With the possible exception of Pamela, of course. Castiel had a growing suspicion in his gut that the woman was actually _smarter_ than she made herself seem.

He made a mental note that he would need to take care of her in the near future, no matter how many conversations had taken place between the two.

And those two agents he had met that morning at the scene in the store were hiding something as well, but Castiel just couldn't quite tell what. They did seem weak, but it was easy to tell that they were clever. The man couldn't quite get the image of the two out of his thoughts.

They were another two he added to the growing list of possible suspects.

As he let his head fall on the back of the couch so he was facing the ceiling, he couldn't help but wonder if the Winchesters had somehow gotten his message. Even if those two agents found it when he suggested looking back behind the building, it could have been shown on the news earlier that day where his targeted audience could have seen it. How else would they find it, anyway?

He was tempted to turn the television on and see if the channel would flash _'Breaking News'. _It was only eleven PM, though, which would be way too early for any news regarding The Ballroom. So Castiel let his eyelids fall closed and allowed a wicked smile to slowly spread its way across his face as he vowed to himself that he would watch the morning news for the first time the next day.

He dreamt of blood and an endless supply of weapons that night.


End file.
